


Deity In Mortal Clothing

by Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Near Eastern Mythology
Genre: Crossover, GFY, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-09
Updated: 2010-11-09
Packaged: 2017-10-13 03:43:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anat's never really been fond of wizards. She's even less fond of this one than usual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deity In Mortal Clothing

**Author's Note:**

> In writing this, I particularly used the idea that deities are created from the faith and belief of humanity, and that without that faith and belief, they will die. Anat refuses to allow herself to die, so finds other ways to draw on the faith of humans around her, even if they don't believe in her necessarily as a deity.

She's felt someone watching her since she stepped into the bustling marketplace the mortals called Diagon Alley, though none should notice anything more than another witch going about some necessary shopping. There are few who've ever truly seen through her disguise, and none since she was a goddess worshiped across several peoples, if not always by the same name. That someone in this modern era has, where she has maybe a few worshipers, and where those who have faith in whatever construct she currently has made of her life are better able to lend her the strength it takes to survive, is more than a little surprising.

Leaving the alley behind for the more enclosed surrounds of the pub that guards its entrance, Anat pays for meal, settling into a corner where she can see both entrances. She's waiting in particular to see if her watcher from the alley will follow her in here, where they will be easier to spot. Or if they'll wait and hope to catch sight of her again elsewhere.

A young man with hair a pale shade like winter sun this far north follows soon enough, easily scanning the room until his gaze falls on her. A quick murmur of something to the man behind the bar, and he comes over to her table, not bothering to ask if he can sit across from her before he does so.

"I'm not looking for company." She looks up when the barmaid comes over with a meal, setting it in front of her with a smile for the tip Anat presses into her hand. That the coin didn't exist a moment ago isn't something that most would realize, nor care, as it won't vanish as that created by those of lesser power might. "Particularly not that of someone utterly unfamiliar to me."

"Draco Malfoy." The blond is watching her with a sharp gaze, a slight frown on his face. "What are you?" As if he can recognize she's not what she appears, and it reinforces her earlier curiosity about his watching of her. The ability to see past what illusion she keeps up is something rare.

"A witch." She gives him an irritated look, as if annoyed that he'd ask such a stupid question. "Anything else isn't your concern, Mr. Malfoy."

He snorted, sitting back in his appropriated chair, keeping his attention fully focused on her even when the barmaid came back over with a butterbeer for him. A child's drink, or the drink of someone determined not to get drunk any time soon. Perhaps an indication of how long he was willing to wait her out in attempting to discover an answer to whatever he had seen that drew his attention.

Anat chooses to give the impression of ignoring him as she eats her meal, though it's harder to do so when he gets up to follow her as she leaves. Even when she steps out into the world outside the comfortably insular one of magic, he only hesitates a moment - likely to ensure his clothing will not stand out, as he has a coat instead of a cloak on when he steps outside.

Though that hesitation is long enough for her to change her outward guise, unnoticed by the others around her, it's not long enough to draw on her limited abilities to step from one place into someplace far removed in space from her previous step. And he still follows her, through the streets until she steps into a quiet alley far from any bits of that world he lives in, waiting for him to catch up.

"Don't tell me you're not the same person in The Leaky Cauldron." Draco doesn't even give her a chance to warn him she's calling authorities about someone following her. No time to pretend to be the mortal she looks like. He's watching her with that same sharp gaze as before. "Or that you're a witch, there's something more to it than that."

"And how would you know?" Anat crosses her arms, keeping her hands clenched as she fights the urge to simply summon her spear to hand, and leave him bleeding out on the pavement. Or perhaps curse the idiot with boundless fertility as she had a wizard long ago who wouldn't leave her be, if for different reasons than this one is bothering her now.

Draco frowns, shaking his head. "I don't know how, just that I know." As if he's unable to describe it, and that makes a shiver run down her spine. It's been millennia since there was a child or grandchild of a god running around loose on the planet, and she doesn't know which he is, or how she'd managed not to notice that one had come to exist. The world that remains to the old gods is too small to support them all, and the younger ones have less interest in the humans that gave them birth than those that came before them.

Yet that's the only explanation she can think of to explain inherent knowledge of a deity's existence without her being able to sense deity in turn. Without knowing who he is, and his realm of influence, as she might recognize what few of the old gods remain. Or, perhaps, one touched by another of the gods, though she doesn't understand what one of them might see in this particular mortal. One of the tricksters, or the guardians of fate, maybe, she thinks.

"Just lovely." Anat pauses a moment, pressing her lips together. "If you must know more than what you know, I shall tell you, but not here." And perhaps after she's hunted down a few of her still-living fellows, and found out who had made this mortal what he is, whether blood or blessed. "Meet me tomorrow on what you call the Isle of Man, and from there I shall take you where we might speak."

With that, she draws as much as she dares from her well of power, stepping far away in a moment, leaving the boy in the alley unable to follow. Now, to do a bit of investigating before she meets with him again.


End file.
